Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE WATCH
The dining room descended into a suffocating silence.
Dante released Bianca’s arm as if her skin had burned him. He stared at the grand staircase leading to the guest wing, his chest rising and falling with slow, calculated breaths.
Bianca’s father, Arthur Sterling, was staying in the eastern guest suite. Arthur was a prominent shipping magnate, a man who had built his fortune on legitimate trade. He had always claimed to detest the violence of Dante’s world, positioning himself as a moral superior who was only allowing the marriage to merge their vast financial empires.
If Arthur Sterling had Matteo’s bloody watch hidden in his luggage, everything Dante had believed for the past five years was a lie.
“Silvio,” Dante said, not turning his head.
From the shadows of the dining room doors, Dante’s Underboss stepped forward. Silvio was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar running along his jawline. He had been Dante’s most trusted enforcer since they were teenagers.
“Yes, Boss,” Silvio answered, his voice rough like gravel.
“Lock the doors. No one leaves this room.” Dante handed the silver pocket watch to Silvio. “Take two men. Go upstairs and bring Arthur down here. If he resists, break his legs.”
“Wait!” Bianca shrieked, lunging forward. “Dante, please! My father had nothing to do with your brother’s death! He’s a businessman, not a killer!”
“We’ll find out shortly,” Dante replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
He turned back to Grace.
The young maid was still frozen in place, her hand resting protectively on Lucy’s shoulder. She looked incredibly small in her white apron, surrounded by the terrifying reality of a Mafia interrogation.
Dante walked over to her. The absolute rage in his eyes faded the moment he looked down at his daughter and the woman who had protected her.
“Grace,” Dante said gently.
Grace swallowed hard. “Y-yes, sir?”
“Take Lucy to the kitchen. Lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me. Do you understand?”
Grace nodded quickly, her brown curls bouncing. She didn’t hesitate. She scooped the eight-year-old girl into her arms, pressing Lucy’s face into her neck so the child wouldn’t have to see the terrified guests.
But as Grace turned toward the kitchen doors, heavy footsteps echoed from the top of the grand staircase.
Everyone froze.
Arthur Sterling was slowly descending the marble steps.
He was a distinguished man in his early sixties, with silver hair and a tailored navy suit. He walked with a polished mahogany cane, his expression perfectly serene, as if he were simply arriving late to a pleasant dinner party.
He hadn’t been dragged down by Silvio’s men. He had come on his own.
“There is no need to break my legs, Dante,” Arthur said smoothly, reaching the bottom of the stairs. He looked around the panicked dining room, his eyes lingering on his weeping daughter. “Bianca, dry your tears. You are making a spectacle of yourself.”
Dante stepped forward, blocking Arthur’s path to the dining table.
“Why did you have my brother’s watch?” Dante demanded, his hands curling into fists.
Arthur sighed, leaning on his cane. “I suppose Bianca went snooping where she didn’t belong. She always was a terribly insecure child, desperate to ruin the help.”
He looked at Grace, who was frozen near the kitchen doors.
“I apologize for my daughter’s behavior, Miss Miller,” Arthur said politely. “She is a spoiled creature.”
“Don’t speak to her,” Dante growled, stepping into Arthur’s line of sight. “Answer the question. Did you order the hit on my brother?”
Arthur chuckled. A dry, humorless sound.
“Dante, if I wanted your brother dead, I would not have kept the bloody evidence in my travel luggage. I am an old man, not an idiot.”
“Then explain it.”
“I didn’t kill Matteo,” Arthur said, his tone turning deadly serious. “I was protecting the only piece of evidence that proves who actually did.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “The watch was in the river.”
“The car was in the river,” Arthur corrected. “The watch was taken off Matteo’s wrist before the car was pushed over the bridge. The killer kept it as a trophy. I spent the last five years, and a considerable amount of my fortune, tracking it down.”
Arthur reached his hand out toward Silvio, who was still holding the silver timepiece.
“May I?” Arthur asked.
Silvio looked at Dante. Dante gave a curt nod.
Silvio handed the watch to the older man.
Arthur didn’t look at the dried blood on the back. Instead, he pressed a small, hidden mechanism near the winding crown.
With a soft click, the shattered glass face of the watch popped open like a locket.
Dante held his breath. He had never known the watch could open.
Arthur reached inside the shallow cavity behind the clock face and pulled out a tiny, perfectly folded photograph.
He unfolded it carefully and handed it to Dante.
“The man who killed your brother left his calling card,” Arthur said quietly.
Dante stared at the photograph.
It was an old, faded Polaroid. It didn’t show a murder weapon, or a mafia boss, or a ledger.
It was a picture of a beautiful young woman with soft brown hair, standing in front of a modest brick house. She was holding a baby in her arms, smiling brightly at the camera.
Dante frowned in profound confusion. “Who is this?”
Before Arthur could answer, a choked gasp echoed through the quiet room.
Grace had taken a step forward. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Lucy, but her eyes were fixed on the faded photograph in Dante’s hand.
All the color drained from Grace’s face. She swayed slightly, as if the floor had dropped out from beneath her.
“Grace?” Dante asked, stepping toward her. “Do you know this woman?”
May you like
Grace’s lips parted. Her stutter completely vanished in the wake of her absolute shock.
“That’s my mother,” Grace whispered, a single tear spilling down her cheek. “And that baby is me.”
